


In a Kinder World

by ranichi17



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: 2010s, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Bad Puns, Bittersweet, Chronic Illness, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, NaNoWriMo 2016, Nerdiness, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Possible Character Death, Puppy Love, References to anime, Slice of Life, Teen Angst, graphic depictions of bullying, heart problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:24:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranichi17/pseuds/ranichi17
Summary: A world without despair still presents challenges





	1. Beautiful Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need a better hobby.
> 
> [Dickensian street urchin voice] Please sir, it's Christmas, I don't want to deal with discourse.
> 
> Also a gift for the great tumblr enablers.

_The vast distances between the stars is nothing compared to the infinite distances between human hearts. — Albert Einstein_

 

“Saionji Hiyoko?” Kizakura Kouichi called out from the class roster he held in his hand, the name list meticulously arranged in  _iroha_  order by the headmaster.

Saionji harrumphed in acknowledgment, before going back to insulting her seatmates.

“Mitarai Ryouta?” Kizakura asked, tapping his pen lightly against the edge of his table, eyes scanning the room for his wayward student. When it was evident that no reply was forthcoming, Kizakura sighed before noting yet another absence in his roster. The row containing Mitarai’s name was already streaked with nothing but red marks.

“Mioda Ibuki?” Kizakura said, calling the last student on the roster.

“Here,  _sensei_ _!_ ” was the cheerful reply from Mioda, who was sitting near the back of the classroom next to the windows.

Kizakura flashed Mioda with his best grin.

“Well, that’s the last of you,” Kizakura said, flipping the folder containing the class roster shut and turning to face the blackboard, chalk already in hand. “So what do you guys want to do today?” he said playfully.

Just another normal day at Hope’s Peak Academy.

 

“It’s just for a few weeks, then you can go home again,” Mitarai Akiko reassured her son, who was currently slouched over his hospital bed wearing a sullen expression to go with the flimsy hospital–issued gown.

“But  _Kaa–san_ , I’m  _fine_ ,” Ryouta complained, adjusting his position to sit up a bit straighter. “And I’ve already missed every school day since the entrance ceremony,” he continued, crossing his arms across his chest, making his mother laugh at the gesture, before suddenly shifting to a more serious expression.

“Trust me, if you were really as fine as you claim, you’d be in school today, not here,” Akiko told her son, a twinkle of sadness in her eyes. “Listen to the doctors, and for gods’ sake,  _behave_ ,” she said, her voice assuming an affectionate tone as she reached out from where she was sitting at her son’s bedside to ruffle his hair, so similar to her own, Ryouta immediately attempting to swat away her hand. “I’ll come back when I get the time, and I’ll try convincing your father to go with me.”

Ryouta smiled back at his mother. “Fine,  _Kaa–san_. Just promise you’ll take care of my cats while I’m here.”

“Of course,” assured Akiko as she gathered her things. “They miss you already, so hurry up and get better.” Standing up to leave, she leaned down to kiss her son’s forehead. “Bye, dumpling. Get some rest when I leave.”

 

Less than ten minutes after his mother left the hospital premises, however, Ryouta was already plotting his latest escape attempt.

Movies have it all wrong, of course. One of the things Ryouta learned over the dozens of times he attempted to slip out was that one should never yank out the IV line since that only invited trouble. Not that he wouldn't get in trouble for pulling it off slowly by himself and escaping, anyway, but at least it was lessened. Even an extended hospital stay can't stop him from going to the convention like he'd planned for months. Sorry,  _Kaa–san_.

The escape plan hinged on two things: a suitable change of clothes and the nurses never finding out he’s left the building.

His change of casual clothing was already safely tucked beneath his bed sheet, so no problems there.

Since the hospital never actually bothered changing the nurses’ rotation schedule, which remained the same for as long as he can remember, he’d be able to slip in and out of the hospital before a nurse comes into his room to check on him.

Those two out of the way, Ryouta’s certain he’d be able to pull this escape plan off without a hitch this time, unlike the few dozen or so previous attempts. Probably.

 

In hindsight, Ryouta thought as he passed by the gates entirely unnoticed by the guard (which  _was_  weird, considering he didn't bother removing the name tag attached to his wrist), maybe he shouldn't have sneaked out of the hospital. His mother already had a lot of things on her mind, he didn't need to add himself to that list. Oh well.

He was still guilty half an hour later as he neared the convention center when the familiar feeling of his heart trying to mimic the drums’ fast–paced routine in a  _Noh_  performance. And it had all been going so well.

Ten minutes after he went in a nearby  _konbini_  to sit down in an attempt to relax and try to stop his heart from pounding so much, it certainly wasn’t going away any time soon. On the contrary, it felt like it was getting worse. Sighing and admitting defeat ( _Kaa–san_ was definitely going to kill him when she found out), Ryouta stood up, one hand placed firmly on his chest, to start the long trek back to the hospital when a bad case of light–headedness decided to descend upon him, rooting him to the spot. Two seconds later, he fainted rather gracelessly straight into the arms of the nearest unsuspecting stranger.

 

When Ryouta next woke up, it was to the blinding glare of the fluorescent lights in his hospital room (or at least he assumed he was in the same room he left this morning), automatically making him raise the hand not connected to the IV line to his eyes to shield them until they adjusted to the lighting. From his window, he saw that the sky already cast an orange hue, meaning he was out cold for at least a few hours, if not an entire day.  _Kaa–san_  probably knows by now. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t talk his ear off. The puppy dog eyes stopped working on her when he turned twelve, anyway, so he wouldn’t get out of this mess without at least being guilt–tripped by her into obedience.

“You’re awake.”

Yep, there was no escaping this discussion. When Ryouta finally dared to remove his hand from his eyes, he found his mother looming over him, her face uncomfortably close to his own, her neutral expression hiding her exasperation at his antics.

Ryouta smiled sheepishly back at her. “Sorry,  _Kaa–san_.”

His mother flicked on his forehead in response, the neutral expression dissolving into a frustrated smile, before she sat down on the plastic chair she'd dragged near to his bed. "I did try to sound surprised when the hospital called me to say you've wandered off again before reappearing passed out in the arms of a high school student, you know," she said, sighing afterward. “You're getting way too old to still be doing this, Ryouta.”

Ryouta shrugged, his eyes not quite meeting his mother’s.

“Next time tell me when you want to go to a con, okay? Don’t just vanish on me.”

Ryouta blinked at his mother’s words, thoroughly surprised. Of all the things she could’ve said, he definitely wasn’t expecting  _that_. He turned to his side so he was fully facing his mother.

His mother laughed at his reaction. “What, you thought I was joking? We’ll go together next year, I promise,” she said, her expression softening once more. “Oh, and by the way, that person you fainted on? He’s also attending Hope’s Peak, so now you’ve officially embarrassed yourself to a schoolmate, and you haven’t even attended classes yet,” she chuckled, which only intensified when she noticed her son’s furious blushing.

“Your schoolmate's right outside said he'd wait for you to wake up first before he left. I'll send him in so you can meet each other. I should go home, too. Your dad's leaving the office any minute now and I still haven't prepared dinner. Be good.”

Before Ryouta could open his mouth to protest, his mother stood up from her chair to place a kiss on his forehead before heading for the door, her hand waving him goodbye.

A few moments later, she returned, pushing a confused student wearing the Hope’s Peak uniform through the door. She winked conspiratorially at her son when she was done, before walking out the door again.

This was going to be a long evening.

Ryouta and his schoolmate stared awkwardly at each other. His schoolmate, Ryouta noticed, had slicked–back dark hair slightly longer than his own. The contrasts did not end there. His schoolmate physically looked the complete opposite of him, tall when Ryouta was painfully short (people who didn’t know him always had a hard time believing he was fifteen because of his height, much to his annoyance), and portly when he was notoriously underweight.

Ryouta was still staring when his schoolmate cleared his throat in an attempt to break the ice.

“Uh, hi?” his schoolmate said awkwardly, his hand giving a little wave.

Ryouta waved back, sure that he looked just as awkward. "Sorry, I troubled you today. That thing doesn't actually happen often," he blurted out in a rush, not even bothering to pause for breath between words. He'd probably bow in apology if he could, too. Oh yeah, and it  _does_  usually happen.

His schoolmate waved off the apology, smiling at him. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re feeling better, though.”

Ryouta nodded in response. “Also, sorry about my mother. She’s always like that.” He shrugged before offering his hand to his schoolmate. “Mitarai Ryouta. Nice to meet you.”

His schoolmate took the proffered hand, and at the mention of his name, recognition flashed in his schoolmate’s eyes. “Hope’s Peak Academy, Class 77?”

“Yeah,” Ryouta admitted. “How’d you know?”

The smile on his schoolmate’s face widened. “We’re from the same class. Kizakura–sensei’s always frowning whenever he reaches your name during roll call. On the days when he bother’s to go to class, that is. Yukizome–sensei’s mostly covering for him.”

The lint on Ryouta’s blanket suddenly became interesting. “Well, now you know why I don’t show up in class,” he said, looking frustrated in trying to pull the lint off. “You haven’t told me your name yet.”

When Ryouta said that, his schoolmate’s smile dissolved, replaced with an expression not dissimilar to someone passing stones. “I’ll tell you when you’re back in class. Call me Sagishi for now,” his schoolmate, Sagishi to Ryouta now, offered.

Ryouta frowned. "Impostor? Why that name, though?"

The smile came back to Sagishi’s face, but now it looked more like wincing, forced. “It’s what everyone calls me.” Sagishi caught a glimpse of his watch. “I should be going. Visiting hours end at 7, right? I’ll come back tomorrow if you want me to.”

“Eh?” Ryouta said, confused by the sudden change in topic, and still a bit loopy from what happened today. “Ah, oh yeah, the nurses should be shooing out the visitors soon. And, uh, are you sure you want to come back tomorrow?”

Sagishi’s face fell before Ryouta hastily clarified, shaking his head and frowning. “It’s not that I don’t want you to, it’s that you could choose not to come if you think you’ll have to force yourself to do it. It’s fine if you don’t really want to. Honest.”

“No, it’s fine, I really want to do it. Maybe I’ll even drop off your backlog of classwork,” Sagishi assured him.

Ryouta groaned at the mention of classwork, prompting Sagishi to laugh, and soon Ryouta joined in, too, but not after pouting for a bit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Sagishi asked.

Ryouta hummed in thought before answering, smiling a little. “Tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this was meant for this year's NaNo, I have most of the chapters written down, so updates will be weekly until the AO3 posts catch up with what I've written so far, in which case updates will turn sporadic because uni.
> 
> I proofread this like six times already, so if you still find errors, feel free to murder me with a hatchet.


	2. The Way We Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [blasts 2016 with a water cannon] The hell year is finally over but I'm still not over DR3 please help me

The next day, Sagishi arrived as Ryouta was absent–mindedly flipping through the news channels, having just finished watching a rerun of an anime special involving shrunk detectives and high profile cat burglars, still completely oblivious of his visitor standing in the door frame.

“—wrestler Great Gozu is now facing controversy after the accidental death of his opponent El Pollo in their title bout last—”

_Click._

“—intensity III earthquake was felt in—”

“Hi, Mitarai,” Sagishi said, not wanting to spend another minute being ignored.

Ryouta yelped, startled by the sudden greeting, the remote control flying from his hands to the floor in a noisy clatter.

“H–Hi! S–Sorry, were you there long?” Ryouta said, poking about the floor trying to pick up the remote control, which as his luck would have it, fell just out of his reach.

Sagishi shrugged. “Not really. I just got here from school,” he continued, unceremoniously dropping off his schoolbag onto the bedside table before sitting down on the plastic chair. “How was your day?”

“Sleeping. Being fussed over by the nurse on duty. Watching anime. The usual,” Ryouta said, still bent down trying to pick up the errant remote.

“No running away? From what you mother told me yesterday, I got the feeling  _that_  was also normal,” Sagishi asked, a playful one to his voice.

Ryouta rolled his eyes. “Oh no, _definitely_  not going to do that again. Maybe next week,” he added as an afterthought, but not loud enough to be audible. “Just a bit more…” he muttered, not yet done with his attempts to pick up the remote.

As amusing as it was to watch Ryouta’s antics, Sagishi finally took pity, crossing over to the other side of Ryouta’s bed to pick up the remote, before handing it over to Ryouta, the latter taking it with a grateful sigh.

“Kizakura–sensei wasn’t in class again, something about nursing a hangover, so all these stuff came from Yukizome–sensei,” Sagishi said, taking out a thick stack of papers from his schoolbag, dropping it all down onto Ryouta’s bedside, the uncluttered side, with a loud thump.

Ryouta’s eyes widened in horror. “How much did I miss? That can’t only be a month,” he said, grabbing something from the top of the stack and flipping through it.

Sagishi’s own eyes glinted in amusement, in contrast to Ryouta’s. “Nope. This,” he said, pointing to roughly halfway through the stack, “is what we’ve discussed so far in class. The rest of it is advanced reading so you won’t turn into a ‘rotten orange,’ as Yukizome–sensei put it.”

Ryouta winced on hearing the term. "Does she call everyone that or just the people who don't go to class like me?"

Sagishi snorted out. “Everyone. I think she’s still miffed most of us ditched her the day she was supposed to start teaching since we thought no one would fill in for Kizakura–sensei,” he replied before going back to pouring out coffee for the both of them from the thermos sitting idly at the edge of the bedside table.

“And? What happened?” Ryouta asked, not bothering to look up from the part of the stack he was currently reading.

“She dragged everyone out from wherever they were hiding in and got us back to class.”

"She what?!" Ryouta spluttered, the paper now firmly discarded.

“Yeah, she did, and threatened to repeat it if we ever ditch her class again,” Sagishi stated calmly, all while handing Ryouta one of the cups he poured out.

Ryouta shuddered, taking the cup gratefully. “So what’s stopping her from dragging me off to class, too?” he asked, tentatively sipping a drop of coffee before making a face. “ _Kaa–san_  forgot the sugar again, didn’t she?” he muttered.

“Trust me, she’d have dragged you to class too if she wasn’t aware you were here,” Sagishi laughed. There were still some spare sugar packets from the coffee he had at the  _konbini_  this morning, which was coincidentally the same one they met in yesterday, which he promptly tossed in Ryouta’s direction.

“Ah, thank you,” Ryouta said, immediately ripping through the sugar packets like a kid would with his birthday presents. By the time he was on the fifth packet, Sagishi’s mouth was already gaping open with disgust, a fact Ryouta was totally oblivious of as he continued to rip open a sixth packet.

“Why?” was the only word Sagishi could muster, making Ryouta pause from opening up a seventh.

“Oh, uh…” Ryouta blushed, struggling for an explanation. “I know this is bad but…yeah,” he shrugged, the last word barely a whisper.

Sagishi held up his hands. “I’m not judging. It’s just that I’ve never met someone who places that much sugar in their coffee,” he gestured at the discarded sugar packets, making Ryouta blush even deeper.

“In any case, this isn’t real coffee, you know. It’s decaf,” Ryouta said, sighing.

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Ryouta said suddenly, trying to change the topic to disperse the awkward silence. “What even is this?” He pointed to a part of the discarded paper he was reading a while ago which now turned out to be a math worksheet. “I don’t think we’ve actually covered this in middle school.”

Sagishi peeked at the worksheet and smiled. “Oh, we’ve just had that lesson this week. It’s actually pretty easy to grasp. Here, let me teach you,” he said, sitting down beside Ryouta to begin the lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case I forget to ever make this pun come up, the fictional town where all this is set is called Nozogahara, written as 希ヶ原, which literally means hope field. I'm not sorry.
> 
> Also, I forgot to mention this last time, but Ryouta's mum writes her name as 亮子, 亮 being the same way her son writes Ryou, following the tradition of parents sharing a kanji of their name with their children (Takaaki and Kiyotaka, Chihiro and Taichi). It's not really unusual in real life either, at least in my side of Asia, since I know a lot of people whose given names are combinations of their parents' names, and even a part of my own name is a modification of my parents'. It's embarrassing.


	3. Grey Boy Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> idk mate I rewrote this chapter at least thrice because it _was_ hard to write. You'll see why.

Class 77–B was buzzing with activity. Today was the day assistant teacher Yukizome Chisa would be coming back to teach their class (and, as the rumour mill claimed, to take over as the class adviser) after being exiled, as Tanaka called it, to Hope's Peak's affiliated school for half a year, no thanks to Komaeda's nonsense. Nanami, ever enthusiastic in her job as the class representative, headed the preparations for the surprise welcome party Kizakura–sensei allowed them to hold.

Since Hanamura's mother owned a diner, and was willing to cater for the party with a discount, he was placed in charge of the food. It still didn't stop him from being an all–around nuisance, however. Both he and Souda kept on flirting with the girls who were all involved with decorating the classroom, which lead to them being distracted and annoyed and translated into not much work being accomplished. At some point, it also ended up ruining an entire panel of decor when Souda unsuccessfully tried to _help_  Sonia, when in reality he was just shamelessly flirting with her. Owari, on the other hand, also became a nuisance when she almost ate all of the food while they were all waiting for Yukizome–sensei, if not for Nidai’s timely intervention.

Against all odds, they managed to get everything just as Yukizome–sensei entered the classroom. Koizumi, ever handy with her camera she’s never seen without, was quick in capturing the look of surprise on their teacher’s face upon seeing how they prepared for her return. At the same time, Mioda was haphazardly throwing out confetti while hooting.

When Yukizome–sensei recovered from her surprise, she tearfully thanked the whole class for their efforts before then confirming, that yes, the rumours were true and that she was indeed taking over as their class adviser from Kizakura–sensei, who was going to be the adviser for their underclassmen when the new school year starts. And in turn, their gym teacher Yamaguchi–sensei will be Class 77–B’s new assistant homeroom teacher.

As soon as Yukizome–sensei finished her speech, Saionji entered the classroom, late as always. Hilariously, Yukizome–sensei didn’t recognize her at first, even asking if she was instead Saionji’s elder sister, because of the massive growth spurt Saionji went through during their teacher’s absence. To be fair, Yukizome–sensei wasn’t the only one surprised at Saionji’s growth spurt, most of the class were, too, once they realized what was gradually happening even though they were present for the entirety of her growth spurt unlike their teacher.

The party continued for the rest of the day, mostly because the school year was technically over already and no one was in the mood for lessons. It ended on a high note way past the normal school hours, so their class were the last ones to leave the school premises. The amused head of security herded them all out right until the gate, but not without being subjected to some light–hearted teasing from Yukizome–sensei.

 

The class walked home together as a group that afternoon, and one by one, the group dwindled as each of them went on their separate ways. Nanami was the first to leave, turning at the block that lead to the affiliated school to Hope’s Peak where her friend studied. Pekoyama and Kuzuryuu left together. It was still a mystery to the class on how those two knew each other from before Hope’s Peak.

Eventually, only Sagishi and Tsumiki were left walking together. Certainly odd, as Sagishi was sure they’ve already passed the block to Tsumiki’s house before Koizumi and Saionji left.

“You aren’t going home, Tsumiki?” Sagishi asked, trying to sound unconcerned. They were, after all, walking on the stretch of the road directly leading to the hospital.

Tsumiki was surprised by the sudden question. It wasn’t everyday Sagishi talked to someone.

“O–oh, uh,” she hummed, twiddling her fingers. “I–I started to do some part–time work at the hospital to help with the bills at home, s–so…” she trailed off.

Sagishi nodded empathetically. Yukizome–sensei once let it slip to him while he was claiming Mitarai’s class work that Tsumiki was having some trouble at home. In another life, perhaps Sagishi could have helped them. But it never did him any good to dwell on the could haves and would haves of his life, so he stopped, and the rest of their walk was marked by uneasy silence.

 

The employees’ entrance was farther to the back of the hospital’s main building, so Sagishi had to part with Tsumiki when they reached the front entrance.

“I go in here. See you tomorrow, Tsumiki,” Sagishi said, giving her a small wave as the automatic doors opened.

“S–same here,” Tsumiki managed to stammer back, bowing back at him even though it looked slightly wobbly.

 

He was hoping to bump into Tsumiki again on his way to Mitarai’s room (second door to his left, at the centerfold), but no such luck.

 

Mitarai’s room was a mess, though Sagishi didn’t really know what he expected as he shook his head, taking in the sight. Discarded balls of crumpled paper littered the floor around where Mitarai was, even though the waste bin was right next to the bedside table where Mitarai’s mother always placed it. Although, now that Sagishi was walking across the room to where it was, cleaning up the mess as he did so, he found the waste bin rolling slowly on its side, the trash that used to be properly thrown inside it now piled up in a heap.

After righting the waste bin with an exasperated sigh, Sagishi’s eyes switched focus on to the tabletop, finding the pen holder (Mitarai’s favorite, the one looking like that cat bus from that anime movie he likes so much, bought by his mother for his last birthday) also upturned, scattering various pencils and inking materials in its wake. The only thing that seemed to remain untouched in the mess was Mitarai’s laptop which remained unopened on the other side of the table.

As for the occupant of the room himself, Mitarai was sitting stiffly upright atop his bed, his sketchpad sprawled open across his lap, and the pencil in his hand clutched so tightly his knuckles appeared white. He was mumbling incoherently under his breath, face set in a scowl, and something in his expression made Sagishi afraid to ask what the matter was. To add to that point, Mitarai was wearing his oversized glasses, something he seldom does, which magnified the frustrated tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. By the looks of it, Mitarai was yet to notice Sagishi’s presence.

Art block? No, Sagishi thought, he’s seen those before and this doesn’t look like one of those days. There was only one way to find out.

Waiting for Mitarai to notice him was out of the question. Whenever Mitarai was in a foul mood, he never notices anything unless prompted to.

Clearing his throat should do it. And so Sagishi did.

It did the trick, breaking Mitarai out of his reverie, halting his mumbling, and looking up from his sketchpad with a crumpled expression to see who was in the room with him.

Sagishi just stood there next to the bedside table, arms across his chest, raising an eyebrow the moment Mitarai’s eyes fell on his direction.

At the sight of Sagishi, Mitarai closed his eyes and exhaled through his mouth slowly. Twice. When he opened his eyes again, he pursed his lips, pale and chapped, together, and stared in silence.

“Yukizome–sensei’s back,” Sagishi finally said, breaking the icy silence. “She’s taken over as class adviser. They haven’t gotten a hold of Komaeda, even though his suspension’s already been lifted two weeks ago.”

Mitarai simply nodded, listless as he returned to finishing his sketch. Sagishi wasn’t even sure he was paying attention to what was said.

Another silence filled the room as Sagishi took out Mitarai’s workload from his bag, depositing them on the table. It was punctuated only by the occasional harsh scratching of a pencil and the screech from a chair being pulled across the room.

“Is something wrong?” Sagishi asked, sitting down on the chair he’d pulled up next to Mitarai. Sagishi was never one to endure silence, as it reminded him of too many things.

 _“Nothing’s wrong!”_ Mitarai snapped, the sudden force he applied to the pencil breaking off its point with a loud crack. Upon realizing what he’d just done, Mitarai’s expression crumpled again, his complexion turning another shade paler.

“I’m sorry,” Mitarai said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just that—,” he gestured at his sketchpad, “—I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Look,” Sagishi said, if a bit too harshly, forcing Mitarai to meet his eyes. “If you already lost track of what you’re doing, it’s fine to take a break sometimes. And besides,” Sagishi sighed, “you actually do look too pale. Have you eaten anything at all?”

Mitarai looked guilty, which was answer enough for Sagishi who shook his head in turn.

“I mentioned we’d have a surprise party for Yukizome–sensei the last time I was here, right? There was a lot of leftovers so we all took some of it home,” Sagishi said, producing a _bento_ from his schoolbag. “You can have mine,” he continued, pushing said _bento_ towards Mitarai who was weakly trying to push it back away with his free hand.

“N–no, it’s yours. And _Kaa–san_ dropped by this morning with food. I guess I just forgot about it,” Mitarai protested, his voice growing softer. “And I _can’t_ stop, I need to finish this before…” he trailed off, gasping for air and clutching his now broken pencil even tighter.

Sagishi noticed this, and grew even more concerned. “Mitarai,” he called out slowly. “Are you sure you’re alright? Should I go call someone?” he asked, worry lines etching themselves deeper into his face.

Mitarai shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “I’m fine. I just — I have to —”

_“Mi—Ryouta!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are lucky to have this chapter this week was a wreck the cold weather triggered my asthma (in fact I'm still sick), and my laptop died on me so I had to type this all up (AGAIN) on my phone
> 
> Also, you guys can blame this chapter if I don't post anything in a while this chapter took a month to write and rewrite ad infinitum which is why I've barely started on the next one and uni's reopening next week so idk when I'll be able to update. Maybe in two weeks.


	4. Despair Syndrome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry.

Before Sagishi's reflexes could kick in, Ryouta's limp body had already thudded onto the bed, the pencil he was previously clutching falling from his hand and landing on the floor in a noisy clatter. Ryouta's complexion, which always looked sickly pale to Sagishi, was now decidedly ashen, and his lips were slightly parted as if he was still desperately trying to suck in air, except…

_No._

_That can't be right._

 

Sagishi couldn't remember pressing the call button on the wall, but he knows he must have because the nurse on duty (Sakamoto–san? Sakamichi–san? He couldn't remember.) was immediately in the room, a questioning look on her face.

“What happened, To— ah, no, Sagishi, right?” the nurse asked as she approached them, frowning upon noticing how Sagishi was frozen in place.

“ _I don't know!_ We were just talking and he…” was the panicked reply, Sagishi shaking his head even as he spoke.

The nurse’s frown ( _damn it_ , why couldn’t he remember her name?) was replaced by a grim expression as she examined Ryouta.

“Sagishi, could you leave the room please?” she asked tersely, her voice unbetraying of anything. “ _Now, please_ ,” she repeated, raising her now steel–edged voice ever so slightly when Sagishi gave no indication of wanting to leave.

Sagishi was still staring blankly at the sight in front of him, but the nurse’s voice brought him back to reality, making him blink twice in rapid succession as he tried to get his bearings back. The nurse’s unwavering gaze continued to pierce through him, and he nodded slowly in understanding, leaving the room as fast as his leaden limbs could take him.

 

Only when he reached the waiting area at the corridor junction a door away did he allow himself to think. Sitting down on the cold, metallic bench, he tried to steady himself by taking in slow, deep breaths, but gradually they turned into choking, tearless sobs as he dimly heard the urgent calls from the speaker system overhead, and continued to stare blankly on while the hospital staff passed him by.

 _Gods_ , how could he have been so stupid? He _should have known_ something was wrong when he saw how trashed the room was.

_And now…_

Sagishi shook his head, trying to stop that particular train of thought from continuing in its tracks. He couldn’t stand to think of that possibility.

_Never._

 

An eternity passes, or it feels like one, at least. Sagishi was still staring intently at the door, waiting. No one was leaving the room, on the contrary, it feels like the flow of people entering keeps on increasing. As if the entire floor’s been allowed to enter except for him.

Then, a flash of unevenly cut dark hair caught his eyes. Was that Tsumiki?

As if on cue, Tsumiki spots him, too, waving and smiling at him while clumsily making her way towards him. In turn, Sagishi managed to muster up a half–hearted smile to offer her when she reached the bench and sat down to his left with a relieved sigh. When she finally turned her face to look at Sagishi, the smile she was wearing dissolved away as she saw the unease written all over him.

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?” Tsumiki asked nervously, slightly tilting her head to the side.

Sagishi shook his head.

Tsumiki pressed on hesitantly, probably out of fear that she might have done something wrong after all. “I thought you already went home after visiting our classmate. What was his name again?” she muttered, biting on her lower lip as she tried to remember. “Otearai? Mitarashi? No, wait, it was Mitarai, wasn’t it? Did something happen?”

“Hey, Tsumiki,” Sagishi said, his eyes drifting back to the door. “Do you know anything about what's happening in that room?”

The question startled Tsumiki until she seemed to understand what Sagishi meant by it. Now it was her turn to shake her head as she gently patted Sagishi’s shaking hand. “H–hey, don’t give up hope. He’ll be fine.”

“But it’s been too long and… I was in there when it happened, I should have known something was wrong!” Sagishi all but shouted, Tsumiki’s sincere assurances unleashing his own doubts. After a beat, he realized what he’d done and promptly apologized. “I’m sorry, I’m just so worried,” he whispered, worrying at his lower lip with his free hand.

Tsumiki smiled reassuringly, looking as if she was about to say something again, until a phone rang and broke the deafening silence. When it did, she blushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she fumbled for the ringing phone from within her pockets.

Sagishi smiled, shaking his head again. “It’s fine, just answer the call. You can leave me if it’s important.”

Tsumiki paused in her fumbling to look at Sagishi, even though her phone was still blaring at full volume. “A–are you sure you’ll be fine alone? I can still stay for a while,” she asked.

“Mm, yeah, I’ll be fine. Don’t get fired because of me.”

Tsumiki nodded hesitantly, still looking directly at him, her phone still going off. Sagishi returned her glance, smiling sadly.

Then she left, occasionally looking back at him until she finally disappeared from sight upon turning at the next corridor. The world was silent once more, and still Sagishi waited.

 

A few more minutes passed, Sagishi was still staring at the door, absent–mindedly straightening his blazer uniform as he did, when the elevator doors slid open, Ryouta’s mother barreling out of it, extremely disheveled, eyes red–rimmed but dry as if she had no more tears left to shed. There were still tear tracks yet to fully dry off on her cheeks, however. She looked frantically to all sides, like she didn’t know where to go, until she caught sight of Sagishi, and a brief look of surprise passed by on her face before it disappeared again just as quickly.

She sat beside him in silence, burying her head in her hands as she did. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and raised her head to look at Sagishi.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I don’t know,” Sagishi admitted, wanting to disappear altogether just so he could avoid saying it again. “We were just talking when we came in and it… happened.” _Gods_ , was he panicking again? He never thought he’d ever be in a position again where he’s powerless to do anything, and he _hated_ it.

“He didn’t say anything?” Ryouta’s mother asked again, eyes unblinking as she continued to stare at him.

Sagishi shook his head. “He just looked tired and got angry at me when I asked if something was wrong.”

“And? How long has it been since…?” She couldn’t continue, the words cut off by a sob that she tried to hide by covering her mouth.

Truth be told, Sagishi didn’t know how long it has been nor did he want to, but for her sake, he took a quick glance at his wristwatch. “Twenty minutes,” he answered. It felt longer than that to him. “ _Gods,_ it’s been that long since it happened and I still don’t know what’s going on in there. I’m no good as a friend,” he muttered as an afterthought, thinking he said it low enough to remain unheard.

He was wrong. Ryouta’s mother _did_ hear him, and she sighed as she moved closer in order to squeeze his hand.

“It’s not your fault. Like you said, you just arrived when it happened,” she said, smiling sadly at him, the smile highlighting her resemblance to Ryouta once again. “If anyone’s to blame,” she continued, “it’s _me_. I should’ve known, I should have _suspected_ that something was wrong.” Her voice broke, and her eyes (hazel, another thing she shared, _shares_ , with her son), dry only a moment ago were filling up with tears she tried holding back. “I’m his _mother_ , and I didn’t realize something was wrong. Gods, I— I can’t lose him _again. Not yet…_ ”

The tears finally spilled out with those words, and she caught Sagishi by surprise when she flung herself towards him, sobbing on his shoulder, restrained at first but soon intensified with each heaving breath.

Her tears were already soaking through his blazer uniform, but Sagishi couldn’t care less, although he was at a loss on what to do. Until a memory resurfaced, some half–forgotten gesture of love. No, _not now_ , it wasn’t the time to think of _them_. Awkwardly at first, Sagishi began to gently rub Ryouta’s mother’s back in an attempt to comfort her. The movement soothed both of them, and it seemed to calm her down until her sobs turned into quiet weeping. Sagishi was sure they make a melancholy pair to anyone who would pass them by, a motherless boy and a mother in danger of losing her son. They continued to sit like that, biding away the minutes in a silence broken only by her occasional sobs.

 

At last, the door swung open with an agonizingly slow creak. Upon hearing it, Ryouta’s mother raised her head and furiously wiped away at her tears. As she stood up, she smiled apologetically at Sagishi, before leaving to talk to the doctor who just exited the room.

Sagishi couldn’t tear his eyes away from the conversation even if he tried. He stared, looking for any hint their expressions might give away, even if he could only really see the doctor’s grim expression from where he was, as Ryouta’s mother had her back turned away.

Finally, after spending some tension–filled minutes that Sagishi passed by twiddling his fingers nervously, the conversation was done, indicated by Ryouta’s mother bowing low to the doctor who was already leaving. As soon as the doctor was out of sight, Ryouta’s mother’s legs started to buckle. Sagishi was up on his feet immediately, determined not to fail, and caught her before she could fall to the floor, even as he could feel his heart about to drop out of his chest.

Like a screen during a thunderstorm, she crumpled in his arms, weeping once again as she desperately clutched at him for support. It did nothing to lessen his own anxiety.

Seconds later, she calmed down again and saw Sagishi’s expression. She smiled a little, and reached out a hand to smooth out his frown, surprising Sagishi. At this, she let out a watery laugh.

“He’s fine,” she assured Sagishi, though he was sure she was also saying that to assure herself. “They just need to transfer him to the ICU, they’re preparing a bed now, in fact, but he’s fine, thank the gods.”

“Can I see him?” Sagishi asked, utterly relieved, as he helped her get back on her feet.

She shook her head, but quickly followed it up when she saw Sagishi’s dejected expression. “No, I didn’t mean it that way. You can see him tomorrow, he’s still unconscious now, and besides—” she gestured to her watch, “—visiting hours are almost over. I’m only staying so I can see where they’re transferring him and because someone needs to watch him overnight. It’s getting late, I’m sure someone’s already worried for you. Go home, I’ll text you where he’s getting transferred to so you can visit him tomorrow.”

Sagishi was about to protest, but her face told him to do otherwise. A brief exchange of farewells occurred instead, and soon he was on his way home.

 

 _“Home, huh?”_ Sagishi thought as he entered his penthouse, an unwelcome parting gift. Only cold porcelain figures and faded photographs ever waited for him here.

He plopped down on the bed as soon as he reached the bedroom, not even bothering to change out of his uniform, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and it was all he could do to stop himself from thinking of everything that happened that day. Soon, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

 

By the time Sagishi woke up, the noontime sun was already glaring at his eyes. _Shit_ , he missed the entrance ceremony. He groaned as he scrolled through the notifications on his phone. How could he have slept through his alarm _and_ this many phone calls? One of them was from Tsumiki, probably still worried about him after what happened yesterday. There was a text message squeezed in between the calls, from Ryouta’s mother, telling him where Ryouta was transferred to. After that, there were five calls, each timed five minutes apart at around the same time the entrance ceremony was happening. They were all from Shinobu, probably annoyed with him for not showing up, forbidden as the communication was. He’ll have to deal with her tomorrow, it was too late in the day to attempt showing up to class.

 

It was almost 2 in the afternoon when he was finally presentable enough to walk out the door, wearing the most comfortable shirt he could find in the closet. It was familiar, too, being a gift from Shinobu for his birthday three years ago. Has it really been that long?

Without even thinking about it, his feet soon brought him to the only place he’d rather be in today. When he did get there, he almost went out of the elevator when it reached the third floor out of habit, before abruptly remembering that it wasn’t where he was supposed to go. No one was waiting there anymore.

Fifth floor looked as different from the third floor as Sagishi’s penthouse did to their classroom at Hope’s Peak. The third floor was bustling with activity, the corridor resounding with the whispers of gossiping nurses and the noise of families and friends visiting patients with minor complaints. In contrast, the fifth floor looked bleak with only the occasional nurses on duty doing their rounds, and the only sound coming from the rooms being murmured prayers and weeping, if they could even manage to overpower the constant beeping of machines.

 

Ryouta’s mother was by her son’s bed when he got there, wearing the same clothes she had on yesterday. Did she even go home at all? She was gently stroking her son’s hair with one hand, and gripping her son’s hand tightly with the other, all while wearing a pained smile.

All the while, Ryouta remained lying still on his bed, the only indication he was still alive at all being the constant beeping of the heart monitor nearby and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest in time with the ventilator.

Sagishi was about to approach when he heard Ryouta’s mother start to say something.

“Hey, Ryou–chan, come back to me,” she whispered as she continued to stroke Ryouta’s hair, her voice sounding like it was going to break again. “You’ve been here before, you can come out of it again. I know you can. _Please_ ,” she pleaded, choking back a sob after the last word even as her tears were starting to fall. She still didn’t seem to notice Sagishi’s presence.

It caught Sagishi’s ear, that _again._ She said the same thing yesterday.

He was still thinking about what she meant when she finally noticed him, and immediately switched back to her customary smile, acting as if nothing was wrong.

“Oh, hey, you’re here early,” Ryouta’s mother greeted, while furiously wiping away her tears. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” she asked after a beat.

“I couldn’t go to class, not after yesterday,” Sagishi admitted sheepishly. He didn’t need to mention the fact that he woke up at noon.

She nodded in understanding, before turning her gaze back to her son. “He hasn’t woken up since yesterday,” she said, answering the question he had wanted to ask but couldn’t.

“Are you staying for long?” she asked.

When Sagishi nodded in affirmation, she sighed. “Can you… watch over him while I go home for a bit? I don’t want to leave him alone. _I can’t._ ” So she really didn’t go home.

They exchanged places. Now Sagishi was the one sitting down by Ryouta’s bedside, while she stood up and started to leave. At the last minute she turned back, spilling out her secrets. “It’s happened before, you know,” she admitted sadly. “The night after his middle school graduation. It’s why he’s not attending classes now.” Her tears were falling freely again. “They— they told me he’s too unstable, that it might happen _again_ , and they don’t know when he’ll wake up. _If_ he’ll wake up.”

She was openly weeping after that admission, but when she saw Sagishi getting up to help her, she raised a hand to stop him. “No, stay there,” she said through her tears. “I’m fine, I’m sorry you had to hear all of that. I don’t know what came over me.”

Sagishi sat down again as he shook his head. “It’s fine, I understand, Mi—”

Ryouta’s mother shot him a brief glare. _Right._

“— _oba–san_. Take all the time you need, I’ll be staying with him.”

She smiled back at him and finally left. Sagishi was alone again. Now it was his turn to talk to Ryouta, he thinks dryly.

“Hey, Ryouta,” Sagishi said, lightly tapping Ryouta’s hand, careful not to dislodge the IV line there. “Wake up. Don’t do this to your mother. She’s worried. Hell, _I’m_ worried about you. So _please_.”

There was no reply, only the beeping and hissing of machines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can explain. Originally this chapter was supposed to have been posted on Lunar New Year, but stuff happened so I moved the posting to Setsubun, but then stuff was still happening so I only got to post this now. The next chapter will be up tomorrow, since that one was originally the second half of this chapter, except if I hadn't cut it out this one would be obscenely long and besides, I realized it doesn't actually fit in this chapter thematically. So yeah, see you guys tomorrow. Consider this chapter and the next one a Heart's Day special.
> 
> And before you ask, I'm keeping Ryou's condition vague on purpose, but there really is an actual diagnosis for it in real life.
> 
> Also, the names Tsumiki said? They're all actually just different readings for the kanji Ryouta uses to write Mitarai. So yeah, technically she's right.


	5. Tomorrow is a Better Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy hearts' day you nerds

Sagishi resumed his mundane life the next day, unwilling as he was to do so. Surprisingly, neither Yukizome–sensei nor any of his classmates badgered him about his absence yesterday. He thinks maybe Tsumiki told them about it. She’s been giving him a worried look all morning, and Sagishi’s sure she would have talked to him by now if it wasn’t for her shyness. Even Yukizome–sensei was doing it, whenever she think he’s not looking. He doesn’t need it, Sagishi thinks stubbornly.

Fourth period was lunch, something Sagishi was dreading. He’d better find Shinobu before she finds him first and assume he’s hiding from her on purpose.

He was right. By the time he could shuffle his way out of the classroom, Shinobu was already outside the door, impatiently waiting for him.

“Where were you yesterday?” she demanded when she was already face to face with him, meeting his eyes with her own in an unspoken challenge. She had to tilt her chin up and stand tiptoed to accomplish it, however. Typical of his little big sister.

He smiled back sheepishly. It didn’t work. At least now he was sure the news hadn’t spread out of his class and possibly the faculty room.

“Byakuya was looking for you, you know, even if he wouldn’t admit it,” Shinobu continued.

“I didn’t think he’d notice,” Sagishi said flatly. “I didn’t think he’d even _care_ whether or not I was there yesterday.”

Shinobu sighed. “Of course he cares. You know our little brother.”

“ _Half_ little brother,” Sagishi corrected. “Though I doubt either of us are even still allowed to call him that. You know the rules.”

She glared at him before insisting on asking again. “So where _were_ you yesterday?”

He shrugged, unwilling to answer. It wasn’t her business anyway.

Shinobu groaned. “I swear, the name you took suits you so well, _Sagishi_. If you ever decide to go around dressed as Byakuya, no one will notice he’s not you, the way you both act irritatingly similar to each other.”

Sagishi’s face immediately colored. “Well, _Blue Ink_ , I hope you’re having fun as Byakuya’s unpaid secretary.”

That made her storm off in a huff, and now he was free to eat his lunch in peace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he’d probably regret it soon.

 

He doesn’t really know how, but he managed to do it for a week, attending classes as if nothing was wrong, even as Shinobu doesn’t greet him in halls anymore, even as she stopped answering his calls.

As draining as it was, he still couldn’t help but drop by at the hospital every day, even if Ryouta’s mother insisted that he didn’t really need to. She was there without fail whenever he arrives, sometimes weeping, at other times staring blankly. Sagishi knew instinctively that she only ever leaves whenever he’s there to watch over Ryouta, knew that neither of them want to leave Ryouta alone in case _it_ happens again.

For the past couple of days, however, Sagishi couldn’t help but notice how Ryouta’s mother wore thicker makeup than usual. Was it just to hide her tears and exhaustion, or was it for something else entirely? Come to think of it, has Ryouta’s father ever been here at all?

It’s been a week, and the only one that Sagishi thinks remains unchanged was Ryouta himself. Still unmoving, still unresponsive to any amount of pleading his mother must have uttered by now.

(The fact is, even if Sagishi doesn’t want to admit it to himself, Ryouta looks like he’s sinking as the days pass, with his cheeks looking more and more hollowed, the circles beneath his eyes growing more and more darker, the sometimes erratic beeping of the heart monitor that made Sagishi panic more than once becoming more and more frequent, his already sallow complexion fading more and more that Sagishi was afraid Ryouta will fade away completely one day.)

Today Sagishi arrived to see Ryouta’s mother neither weeping nor staring. She was whispering to her son, clasping Ryouta’s hand tightly with both of her own.

“—n’t let your father allow it. I can’t bear it. You have to wake up. _Please._ ”

 _“Do what,_ oba–san? _”_ Sagishi asked aloud without thinking, suddenly afraid of the answer.

The sudden question startled her, making her look up at Sagishi with guilty eyes. “Nothing. It’s _nothing_ ,” she insisted as she gently dropped her son’s hand to straighten out her jacket. “I— I have to go home for a while. You’re staying, right?”

Sagishi nodded cautiously.

“Watch over him. Tell me if anything’s changed. I’ll be back in a bit.”

She left in a hurry, without explaining what she meant by her words.

 

“Hey, Ryouta, what was that about?” Sagishi asked once she disappeared, turning to Ryouta.

There was no reply, of course.

“When I told you to get some more sleep that one time, I didn’t mean sleeping for an entire week, you know,” Sagishi continued, still not dropping his cheerful façade as he tried to busy himself with arranging the curtains.

“So, when are you even planning on waking up?” he asked, suddenly furious, throwing the curtains forcefully that they flapped back noisily towards the window.

Ryouta’s face remained impassive.

Sagishi sat down and sighed, trying to avoid having to look at Ryouta’s face again. It felt too much for him.

“I thought you wanted to attend school again. How are you supposed to do that when you stay like that? _Wake up_ ,” Sagishi repeated helplessly.

Again, there was nothing.

Was it just his imagination, or was the beeping becoming faster again?

 

To pass the time, Sagishi tried to do his schoolwork. It was no use. It just wasn’t the same to do it alone, after having someone to do it with him for a whole year. He gave up the attempt after a while, as his thoughts kept drifting elsewhere, and because he always ends up stopping every few problems to nervously check if anything’s changed with Ryouta. The incessant beeping and hissing weren’t helping his case either, as they managed to worm their way into his mind that he was sure he’d go mad if this situation continued any further.

When Sagishi heard the door slide open sometime after he abandoned his schoolwork, he didn’t even bother looking up from staring blankly at Ryouta’s face. He was sure it was just a nurse, as Ryouta’s mother wouldn’t have come back so quickly, right?

As it turns out, it was neither. Unless Tsumiki counted as a nurse now.

She was still wearing her school uniform, looking at Sagishi with the same worried expression she had all week.

“Why are you here, Tsumiki? Aren’t you supposed to be on duty right now?” Sagishi asked.

“I–It’s my day off. A–and I asked around to find you. Both of you,” Tsumiki replied nervously.

“And?” Sagishi turned his gaze back to Ryouta.

“How is he?” Tsumiki asked.

“Still unconscious, what do you think? And you don’t even know him so why do you care?”

Tsumiki only smiled. “He’s still part of our class.”

“So? At this rate, I don’t know if he’d ever get to attend classes.”

Tsumiki was now right beside Sagishi, hands stuck in midair like she was unsure of what to do with them. “You have to stop this. Everyone’s worried about you. You haven’t paid attention to class all week. Yukizome–sensei says your grades are slipping, and exams are coming up next week. Have you even reviewed for them at all?”

Something in Sagishi finally snapped, and before he knew it, he was already shouting. “No. How am I supposed to focus when he’s like that? When I think I could have done something to prevent this? _How am I supposed to do anything?_ ” he demanded, glaring at Tsumiki.

It made Tsumiki take several steps back. “I–I’m sorry, I was just trying to help I—”

She stopped babbling all of a sudden, and in its place she gave an audible gasp.

 _“What?”_ Sagishi asked irritably.

Tsumiki didn’t answer, still staring. Sagishi followed her eyes instead to find out what it was that made her stop.

It was Ryouta. He’s awake. He was blinking slowly, probably trying to make sense of what’s going on. _He’s awake._

“I have to fetch a nurse,” Sagishi said hurriedly as he tried to stand up.

He couldn’t leave, however. Ryouta was weakly gripping Sagishi’s hand, all the while staring, _pleading_ with his tired hazel eyes to not be left alone. So Sagishi didn’t.

“I–I’ll do it,” Tsumiki said as she rushed out of the room.

“Hey, I’m here,” Sagishi assured Ryouta, returning his grip, not wanting to let go either. “I won’t leave, I promise.”

Ryouta blinked back. If it wasn’t for the ventilator tube still in his mouth, he might have smiled. After a few seconds, he fell back asleep.

In that moment, Sagishi swore he’d never fail Ryouta again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i was thinking of posting this next week so you guys would get what sagishi was feeling but ehhh i promised yesterday that i'll post it today so yeah
> 
> idk when i'll be able to update, i have a shitton of exams coming up in the next few weeks


	6. Love is Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pi day nerds  
> and happy white day  
> and a happy birthday to both chiaki and chihiro

He’s drifting.

The thing was, by all accounts, Mitarai Ryouta should be dead. He knows he should be. There was no other explanation for the eerie calmness that suddenly replaced his desperation to breathe, or for how everything suddenly went black as if someone had flicked a switch to turn off the sun.

And yet, here he was, drifting in the murky abyss, not sure where he was going, if he _was_ going anywhere. It’s too dark, too silent, _too empty_. If this was the afterlife, it was terrible.

“Hey, Ryou–chan,” a voice called out, gentle and familiar, muffled as if his head was underwater.

“Come back,” the voice called again.

_Kaa–san?_

Ryouta tried to pay attention, wanting to hear the voice again.

“Your father was here this morning. Not in your room, though, just here in the hospital,” his mother’s disembodied voice said.

He’s dreaming, he’s sure of it. There was _no way_. He hasn’t seen his dad in more than a year.

“Hey, wake up already,” his mother pleaded again, her voice cracking.

Was she crying? Why was she crying? He hates it when she cries, so why was she crying in this dream?

“Your father, he… he’s given you a week,” she said, then it was followed by what sounded like a sob. Ryouta wanted to see her, to wipe away whatever tears were falling on her cheeks (When was the last time he kissed his mother’s cheeks before he decided he was too old for it?), but he can’t, he’s stuck here.

She’s stopped sobbing now, and continued where she cut herself off. “He’s talked to your doctors, he’s agreed to let them pull the plug if you don’t wake up within a week.”

_Oh._

_Oh no._

He’s always known his dad never loved him enough, but —

_Why?_

“I can’t let your father allow it. I can’t bear it. _Please._ ”

Oh, _Kaa–san._

He wants to wake up, too. This wasn’t a dream, this was a _nightmare._ And he doesn’t know how to get out.

For now, he continues to drift.

 

The sound of angry shouting woke him up.

Wait, _woke up?_ When did he fall asleep?

_“—m I supposed to do anything?”_

Sagishi?

_What was happening?_

Ryouta slowly opened his eyes, curious. (Why were they so hard to open?)

_Huh?_

Why was he back in here _again?_

Did something happen to him?

There was that dumb beeping again. He _definitely_ didn’t miss hearing it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a blur (gods, he needs his glasses) that could only mean he’s on a ventilator again. If he tried to see the rest of himself, he knew he’d probably find wires and tubes sticking out everywhere. At least that explained why he felt so sleepy.

But where was _Kaa–san?_

Why did he wake up again?

Oh, _right._

Eyes still heavy–lidded, Ryouta looked around the room to find the source of the shouting.

Sagishi was there to his right, breathing heavily from shouting, his back turned away from Ryouta, while his hand was gripping Ryouta’s own. Ryouta blinked at that, wanting to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things.

He was still staring at the hand, trying to fight off the urge to go back to sleep, when he registered the presence of another person in the room. _She_ was staring at him like she’d just seen a ghost. Well, Ryouta supposed he could probably count as a ghost already.

He blinked again, trying to see what she looked like with his foggy vision.

Was she another classmate? The unmistakable brown of what she was wearing seemed to suggest so. But if she was, why was she here? No one else at school knew.

_Right?_

Then he realized they were talking about _him._

If only he could stop giving people problems.

And yet he can’t help but tighten his hand around Sagishi’s when it started slipping away.

_Please don’t go._

Hazel eyes met grey, and he thinks Sagishi understood because Sagishi returned his grip tighter than Ryouta could manage to do. In the distance (but she wasn’t that far, was she?), Ryouta heard the girl squeak out that she was going to look for a nurse. He thinks he could hear Sagishi too, telling him that he wasn’t going anywhere (but that can’t be real, right? Why would Sagishi care so much for someone like him?), and Ryouta blinked at that.

_Thank you._

He goes back to sleep, too exhausted to continue fighting it anymore.

 

_Ow._

_Why does everything hurt?_

Ryouta cracked his eyes open, just to see what was going on.

_Oh._

Was he forgetting something?

Why was he here again?

_Kaa–san?_

His mother was right there, napping uncomfortably on the plastic chair pulled close enough beside him that her head was resting on the bed, right next to his hand. She looked like she hasn’t slept properly in days. Even in her sleep, her eyebrows were knitted together. Ryouta reached out, gently smoothing out the creases on his mother’s face that had no business being there.

Only, as it turns out, it wasn’t as gently as he thought it was.

“Ryou–chan?” his mother yawned. “Is that you? Are you finally awake?” she asked as she adjusted in her seat, sitting up straight to look at him.

_Finally?_

She must have seen his confusion, since she smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair away from his face.

“You don’t remember?” she asked.

Ryouta could only blink in response, as a tube was currently stuck in his throat. (Shaking his head would only dislodge it which was _not at all_ a fun experience, and _why was it even there anyway?_ )

_But he already knew the answer to that, didn’t he?_

“You kept on drifting in and out of consciousness these past few days, and before that…” she trailed off. “Never mind that. You don’t remember anything?” his mother asked again.

_Nope._

“You _are_ awake now, right?”

He smiled sheepishly at her, although he wasn’t really sure if it was visible through all _this_.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek then. When she raised her head up again to look at him, there were tears pooling at the corner of her eyes.

“Hey, don’t do that again. You scared me,” she said, furiously dabbing away at her tears. “Does anything hurt?”

_Only everything._

“You’re glaring, Ryou–chan.”

_Eh?_

Oh, he didn’t realize.

“Never mind, I should be getting a nurse either way. Just as long as you promise you’ll _still_ be awake when I get back?”

Ryouta raised an eyebrow.

His mother smiled back. “That’s what I thought. You’re already back to normal, aren’t you?”

She kissed him again, this time on his forehead, and left the room with a smile still on her lips.

As soon as the door was shut, Ryouta’s face fell as he tried to remember what happened, but no luck there. How long was he even out? He was pretty sure it wasn’t _this_ far along spring the last time he was awake.

By the time his mother returned with a nurse, the noises in the room were already too grating on his ears that he was sure if it wasn’t for the tube in his throat, he’d already be screaming in frustration.

Ryouta supposed he shouldn’t blame the nurse for not taking him off the ventilator yet (“There’s a protocol, you see.”), but he really wanted it gone already. The only good thing to come out of the check–up was the pain meds (sweet, _sweet_ relief), and the promise that if everything goes well he might be moved back to his old room.

In the meanwhile, he’s back to writing on a notebook to be able to say anything. _Joy._

 

Sagishi came to visit a few hours later, looking as if he’d trudged through hell. Apparently, it was already exams week. (He’d been out for _that_ long?) They didn’t really have all that much to talk about, it was just Sagishi asking him how he’s feeling and some mild complaining about the length of the English exam (Ryouta had to suppress a shudder there). Although, to be perfectly fair, it was only Sagishi who did the talking, Ryouta having to write down what he wanted to say on pages of loose leaf.

As the visit went on, Ryouta couldn’t help but be bugged by something. Why wouldn’t Sagishi meet his eyes?

“You know I don’t remember anything that happened, right?” Ryouta scribbled out, abruptly cutting off Sagishi’s story about the latest theory their classmates have cooked up on Pekoyama’s and Kuzuryuu’s real relationship.

“Anything about what, Ryouta?” Sagishi asked, still not quite meeting his eyes.

There was _that_ , too. When did Sagishi switch to calling him by his given name? Not like he was offended, he _did_  like the way his name rolled off Sagishi’s tongue, but weren’t they only on last name _yobisute_ the last time?

Ryouta hastily wrote again on the other side of the page. “ _Everything._ No one’s told me why I’m here. What happened?”

 _That_ made Sagishi finally look into Ryouta’s eyes. “Fine,” he sighed, massaging his temples like he wanted to ward off a headache. “You… _collapsed_ ,” Sagishi admitted, “right in front of me.”

_Oh._

Was that why he’s acting like this?

For a few moments, there was no sound in the room except for the machines. The air was heavy with the weight of that admission, and it felt as if the temperature in the room dropped the second Sagishi said the words.

And then, it vanished as the door opened, making them both turn their head to see who it was.

Wait.

Was she someone he was supposed to know?

Or maybe not. She looked so bewildered at being stared at by both of them that Ryouta was sure she just went to the wrong room by accident.

That is, until Sagishi addressed the strange girl.

“Oh, hey, Tsumiki,” said Sagishi, waving at the newcomer.

 _Tsumiki?_ The name sounded familiar. A classmate, maybe? The name _did_ sound familiar. Besides, now that Ryouta can see her more clearly, it looked like she was wearing the Hope’s Peak uniform underneath her apron (An apron? Really?).

The girl, Tsumiki, smiled shyly back. “H–Hi. Is he —?”

Sagishi rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he’s awake. Tsumiki, this is Ryouta. Ryouta, Tsumiki. I think I’ve mentioned her to you already.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ryouta wrote down on a new page, a twinkle in his eyes.

“S–Same here,” Tsumiki replied nervously as she tried to do an awkward bow.

 

Recovery was never easy.

For the whole month after Ryouta woke up for real, he was stuck in the ICU with only his mother for company as they weaned him off the ventilator. Sometimes there was also Sagishi and Tsumiki to visit him. Tsumiki, he’s been told, works in the hospital after school hours, which probably explained why she always shows up wearing an apron.

At least he’s finally switched to a cannula from a ventilator by the end of it, and getting moved back to his old room in two days. Small blessings.

Maybe he should try asking again.

“ _Kaa–san_ , can I go home?” Ryouta asked one afternoon, trying to sound casual.

“No,” his mother replied, not even bothering to look up from the book she was reading.

“Why not?”

“You’re still sick, Ryou–chan.”

“But I want to go home,” Ryouta said stubbornly.

His mother closed her book forcefully and turned to look at him. “I said _no_ , Ryouta.”

“ _Why?_ I’m _fine_ now,” Ryouta insisted, gesturing vaguely at himself. “I’m not sick anymore.”

Something flashed in his mother’s eyes when he said that. “Ryouta,” she inhaled sharply, “you are _not_ fine. You will _always_ be sick. _You are dying._ I _can’t_ allow it, not when I’ve almost lost you. _Twice. Stop it_.”

 _“No,”_ Ryouta snapped right back, unthinking.

_Don’t distress yourself, you’ll end up with another attack._

_I_ don’t _care._

“I _won’t_ stop asking to go home. I _know_ I’m dying, _Kaa–san_. We _both_ know I won’t live to see twenty. But let me _live_ first. _Please._ I want to go home,” he pleaded, breathing heavily while he ignored the pain that was starting in his chest again.

His mother just stared at him, all tranquil fury, for a few tense moments. Then she sighed, her expression softening. “I’ll ask the doctors,” she said quietly, and hurriedly walked out of the room.

He could hear her sobbing outside, just as he started regretting what he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> don't ask  
> there were some scenes that were supposed to go at the end of this chapter, but i decided to give them their own chapter which, once again, i don't know when i'll finish  
> uni is hell


	7. Lingering Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Finally._

For the rest of that day, Ryouta’s mother didn’t come back to his room, but when she did the next morning and for the days after that when he got transferred back to his old room, she didn’t speak to him at all, only giving him looks that he was at a loss to interpret. He couldn’t stand it, but he knew he completely deserved it.

 

Spring was beautiful.

Outside his window, there was a _sakura_ tree in full bloom, the flowers clumped too close together that the branch might fall off at any time from the weight of them, brushing against his window with every gentle breeze. Ryouta could probably pick off a bloom and take in its scent if he ever stood up to open the window, but even the act of standing up tired him out, much less walking towards it. As it was, he could only sketch out the scenery in his sketchpad, even though he probably wasn’t doing its beauty enough justice. Ryouta regretted he ever took the season for granted, not when each one that passed could be his last.

The only people still talking to him on visits were Sagishi and Tsumiki. Sagishi at least still treated him as if nothing happened. In Tsumiki’s case, he couldn’t tell if her shyness was natural or if it was because she thinks him fragile. The conversation was welcome either way.

“Are you ever gonna show me your sketches?” Sagishi said, leaning in closer to Ryouta to try and peek at Ryouta’s sketchpad.

Ryouta yelped, shutting his sketchpad close, his face flushed red. The sudden question stopped his train of thoughts and made his heart race again. “I’ll show you when I’m done, okay?” he screeched out, breathing heavily afterwards, a hand pressed to his chest.

Sagishi frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

“…Maybe,” Ryouta breathed out. “Just don’t…do that again.”

“…Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ryouta said, shaking his head. “How’s the class?” he asked, trying to change the topic, as he tried to get his bearings back.

“Saionji got into a fight with an underclassman during lunch. Something about being there supposed to be only one blonde pigtailed girl running the school. It was ridiculous,” Sagishi said, smiling despite himself.

“Wait,” Ryouta said, scrunching up his face. “I thought you said Saionji wore a ponytail now?”

“She does, but she’s angry that someone’s copying her style,” Sagishi shrugged. “Feeling any better or am I going to have to call someone? You’re still breathing hard.”

“Almost,” Ryouta said, taking in a deep breath. “Is Tsumiki coming today?”

“I think so? But she’s not on duty today, though. Why?”

“Nothing. Is she always like that?” Ryouta asked, the words barely a whisper.

“What?” Sagishi asked flatly.

“Tsumiki. Does she really act like that to everyone or just to me?”

“No, she’s like that to everyone,” Sagishi assured him. “I think it comes with being Saionji’s chew toy. By the way, Yukizome–sensei wants the class to have a _hanami_ party. Apparently the spring this year is better than last year’s.”

“Oh,” Ryouta said, fiddling with his pencil. “Well, don’t ask me, I didn’t see it last year.”

That seemed to surprise Sagishi. “Wait, how did you manage to miss it last year?”

Ryouta avoided Sagishi’s gaze, choosing to stare at the pencil in his hand instead. “ _Kaa–san_ already told you, didn’t she? That this happened before? It’s why I missed spring last year. I wasn’t awake for most of it.”

“Then don’t miss it this year.”

 

“I can walk, you know,” Ryouta said, thoroughly incredulous.

Sagishi rolled his eyes. “Sure you are,” he said dryly. “Just get in the chair, Ryouta.”

“Where are we going, anyway? Am I even allowed to leave this room?” Ryouta asked, still eyeing the wheelchair with suspicion.

“Y–Yes,” Tsumiki piped up nervously. Ryouta had almost forgotten she was in the room. “I already asked. A–and besides, I’m with you. Just in case.”

“You haven’t answered where we’re going,” Ryouta pointed out, his mouth forming a pout.

“Just to the gardens. It’s a nice day out,” Sagishi said, still gesturing for Ryouta to get into the chair.

“Fine,” Ryouta sighed in defeat, shifting over to the edge of the bed so he can get on the wheelchair. But as soon as he stood up, his unsteady legs gave way, making him land gracelessly on the floor.

_Useless._

Sagishi immediately offered a hand. “What was that again about being able to walk?”

Ryouta shook his head, not taking the hand nor looking at anything but the floor.

“Are you going to take my hand or do you want me to carry you instead?” Sagishi asked, more sympathetically this time. “You look thin enough that I could probably do it.”

“ _No!_ I—” Ryouta protested, taking Sagishi’s hand without looking “Just pull me up. Please.”

Sagishi gladly obliged, gently pulling Ryouta back on his feet. They all pretended not to notice how badly Ryouta shook from the effort of standing up and shuffling towards the wheelchair.

Sagishi moved to push the chair once Ryouta was seated, but Ryouta shook his head again. “I think I can roll myself around, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Sagishi asked hesitantly as he backed away. “It’s not a bother for me if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, it’s fine, I can manage. Can you hand me my sketchpad?” Ryouta asked, pointing to the sketchpad on top of the bedside drawer. “And maybe grab a pouch from inside the top drawer?” he added as an afterthought.

“Which one? There’s a lot of them in here,” Sagishi asked when he opened the drawer.

“Any of them. They’re already arranged by type of medium, anyway,” Ryouta shrugged. “I’ll carry that basket if you want, Tsumiki.”

“I–It’s kinda heavy, Mitarai–san,” Tsumiki said, her voice reaching an octave again, but she still gently placed the picnic basket on his lap all the same.

Ryouta agreed with Tsumiki, but he wasn’t about to admit that aloud.

As soon as Sagishi handed Ryouta the pouch and his sketchpad, they left the room, Sagishi and Tsumiki hovering protectively on either side of Ryouta in his wheelchair.

 

It’s been a while since he last left his room, Ryouta suddenly realized. Spring changed even the scenery outside of his four–walled world. The hallways seemed brighter, some of the nurses hurrying past weren’t familiar, and even the nameplates on the rooms were different (except for the room next to his, it was still occupied by Akemi–san according to the nameplate). It felt like the only thing that didn’t change was Ryouta himself.

And then, there was the outdoor walkway. Both of its sides were bordered with hedges bursting with color, each one sculpted in a different shape. Everything was dominated by green no matter where he looked, and everywhere too, were fallen _sakura_ blossoms scattered upon the lush grass of the hospital garden. Near the _sakura_ trees, there were patches of soil where forsythias blossomed proudly under the equally golden sun. It made a beautiful contrast.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Ryouta,” Sagishi joked from his left.

Ryouta blushed, exhaling the stale air that built up in his lungs without his notice. “Sorry.”

“Is this the first time you went out of your room?” Tsumiki asked.

Sagishi made a noise that sounded suspiciously like strangled laughter before immediately clearing his throat, making all of them stop in their tracks. Both Tsumiki and Ryouta turned to look at Sagishi for vastly different reasons, Tsumiki in curiosity, and Ryouta to glare at and to warn Sagishi not to tell Tsumiki _exactly_ how many times he’s left his room before, with or without permission.

It didn’t work.

“He’s gone out of his room before, Tsumiki. That’s how we met,” Sagishi shrugged, making Ryouta glare at him some more. Why couldn’t he let _that_ go?

Fortunately for both of them, Tsumiki only nodded, satisfied with Sagishi’s answer, and did not press on.

 

They decided to set up their picnic under the shade of one of the _sakura_ trees. The shift from rolling the wheelchair from a mostly smooth pavement to the rough grounds of the garden disoriented Ryouta and made him lose his balance, nearly toppling over the basket on his lap, but Sagishi managed to catch the basket in time, handing it to Tsumiki before going over and pushing Ryouta’s chair for him despite his protests.

The _sakura_ tree was more beautiful up close, the blossoms just within reach now, and the scent they gave off mingled with the breeze, smelling sweeter than Ryouta imagined it to be.

Ryouta stood, using the tree’s trunk to boost himself up. His legs were still shaking, but he was determined to at least feel the grass beneath his feet. Breathlessly, he sat near where Sagishi and Tsumiki were setting up the picnic, smiling as he did so.

Sagishi was beside Ryouta in a heartbeat, worry lines creasing his face again. “You could’ve told me, you know. What if you fell down again?”

“I’m fine, I didn’t fall, did I?” Ryouta replied, still smiling.

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay put.”

Sagishi sighed. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” Ryouta assured him. “You should go back and help Tsumiki, she looks like she needs it.”

And she does. Tsumiki was currently struggling to keep the blanket she laid down in place against the breeze. The same breeze also caught the hems of her skirt, making her skirt billow slightly in the direction the wind was blowing. The picnic basket, left forgotten in the wake of Tsumiki’s attempt to keep everything else in place, was threatening to topple over again. Sagishi went back to help Tsumiki, grabbing the picnic basket before it could fall to its side and spill its contents. Even as he was helping Tsumiki set up, Sagishi still occasionally turned to Ryouta’s direction and gave him worried glances, and each one of them Ryouta simply answered with a smile.

Ryouta turned to a new page in his sketchpad, pleased to have something new to draw. It was only when he opened the pouch Sagishi handed him a while ago that he realized it was the pouch that contained the oil pastels his dad gave him last year. They still looked new to him, barely used unlike the rest of his art materials, for fear he’ll use them up too fast and lose the last gift his dad gave him.

All these thoughts he pushed as he set out to work on another sketch. The scenery was too good to go to waste.

 

By the time Ryouta was finished with the outlines, Sagishi and Tsumiki were already done setting up. Ryouta closed the sketchpad and shuffled back on his feet to join them before either of them could offer their help.

_Oh._

They’ve brought everything that could be found in a _matsuri_ , displaying them on colorful paper plates. On the plate nearest to Ryouta were toffee apples, strands of excess melted sugar still visible on some of them. Next to it were golden–brown _taiyaki_ lined up neatly in a row. There were also _takoyaki,_ the sauce on top of them shining underneath the afternoon sun. And in the centerpiece were _dango_ skewered on sticks, each one in a different color, still dripping with the glaze on top of them. Ryouta wondered where they found the time to buy all of the food, or even make them on their own.

“Well, are you just going to stare?” Sagishi asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Ryouta’s face reddened. “N–No, ah, sorry,” he managed to stammer. “Isn’t this a bit too much?”

“It’s not,” Sagishi shrugged. “And besides, didn’t you say you missed _hanami_ last year?”

“I don’t even know why I told you that,” muttered Ryouta.

Sagishi, smiling, raised an eyebrow as he handed Ryouta a skewer of _dango_. “Funny thing, when we were buying this _dango_ , the label had the same kanji as your name on it. You didn’t tell me you were named for a _dango_.”

Ryouta might have smacked him for that.

 

“—you think we should bring him back?”

“M–Maybe we should wait ‘til he wakes up?”

Ryouta woke up slowly with the whispers, though he didn’t open his eyes yet. He didn’t even realize he fell asleep.

“Are we even sure he’s just sleeping?” That was Sagishi’s voice. “What if—?”

“‘M fine, I’m awake, see?” Ryouta groggily said as he opened his eyes, cutting off Sagishi.

The sun was already setting in the sky, making it appear a vibrant orange. He was still sitting down in the same place as before. How long did he sleep?

“What time is it?” Ryouta asked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Almost six,” Sagishi replied, his hand firmly placed on Ryouta’s shoulder. “We should go back.”

“Yeah, we should,” Ryouta said, placing his hand on top of Sagishi’s. “Help me up.”

“Gladly,” Sagishi said, pulling Ryouta by the hand. “As long as you’re not planning on walking all the way back?”

Ryouta rolled his eyes. “I’m not that stupid.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

 

Ryouta fell asleep again on the way back, lulled by the gentleness of how Sagishi pushed the wheelchair, Ryouta being too tired to argue about it. When he next woke up, they were already leaving the elevator on the third floor, and his mother was waiting for them there. She was smiling when she met with them.

“Here, let me take him back,” she said, motioning for Sagishi to let her take over control of the wheelchair. “You should both go home. Spend the rest of Golden Week with your family.”

Sagishi and Tsumiki reluctantly agreed and said their goodbyes, Tsumiki tripping over her words again while Sagishi was surer of his, and promised to come back again tomorrow. Soon, Ryouta was left alone with his mother again as they went back to his room in complete silence. Ryouta wanted to break the silence, but he didn’t really know what to say or how to apologize to her.

When they got back to his room, his mother carries him from the wheelchair back to his bed before Ryouta could utter a word of protest. Not that he wanted to, anyway.

She hummed as she placed him down on the bed. “You’re not as heavy as I remember, Ryou–chan,” she said, smiling sadly as she looked at him.

Ryouta avoided her eyes, still not knowing what to say.

“Do you really want to go home?” she asked softly, carding her fingers through his hair after sitting down beside him.

“I—,” Ryouta said, startled by the question. “I’m sorry, _Kaa–san_. That was selfish. I won’t ask again,” he continued, annoyed at himself for starting to tear up.

“No, it’s— it’s fine, it’s also my fault,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, do you want to go home?”

Ryouta nodded. “But only if it’s alright with you.”

“It is. I’ve already asked,” she assured him. “But you’ll have to work on walking again before they’ll release you,” she added with a small smile.

Ryouta nodded again, trying and failing to stifle a yawn as he did so. His eyes were starting to feel heavy again, and the bed was just so _soft_.

His mother giggled. “Go to sleep, Ryou–chan. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, confession time. Chapters 4-7 were originally supposed to be a single chapter but it just kept on getting longer and longer so I ended up splitting them into multiple parts. I've been waiting for almost two months to write this part.
> 
> Next chapter will _probably_ be a short one. Probably.
> 
> Oh yeah, if you didn't read my other fic, the _dango_ in question was a _mitarashi dango_ , _mitarashi_ being written with the same kanji as Mitarai.
> 
> ~~This chapter was brought to you by copious amounts of caffeine and Broadway recordings.~~


	8. SHSL Sentimentalist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stop reading.
> 
> I said stop.
> 
> Now, listen. See the graphic depictions of bullying and possible character death tags up there? This chapter's the reason they're there. Fair warning.

“Ryou–chan?” Ryouta’s mother called out as gently tapped Ryouta on his shoulder. “Wake up. We’re home.”

Ryouta hummed, rubbing sleep away from his eyes. _“Nee, Kaa–san,”_ he said, voice still thick with lethargy. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”

That made his mother laugh. “No, dumpling. You’re really home.”

Ryouta’s lips broke into a wide smile. It’s been more than a year since he last went home, after all. His mother returned the smile, but there was still tension in her eyes when she inched away from him to give him space.

When Ryouta started to step out of the rental car, his mother started shaking her head. “No, Ryou–chan.”

“What?” Ryouta asked.

“You’re not supposed to be walking around, Ryouta. Use the wheelchair.”

“But, _Tou–san—_ ”

“—is not here, don’t worry about it. Just use the chair, Ryouta.”

Ryouta sighed, knowing he won’t win this argument. “Is he going home tonight?” he asked quietly as his mother wheeled him to the house.

“He didn’t tell me.”

They were both silent up until Ryouta’s mother opened the door. As soon as she did, a gigantic lump of white fur jumped onto Ryouta’s lap, startling both him and his mother.

“Hi, Muta–chan,” Ryouta cooed, scratching the back of his cat’s ears as it started purring and kneading against him. “I know, I know,” he continued, now brushing his hand through the soft white fur. “I missed you, too. Where are Baron and Goro, anyway?”

“Baron’s probably in your room, scratching up the _tatami_ mats again,” his mother said. “He’s been doing that ever since…. Anyway, Goro’s sleeping in the cat tree when I left this morning.”

 

Sure enough, when Ryouta wheeled to his room, with Muta sleeping snuggly on his lap, Baron was inside the room, pausing from scratching the mats to sniff the air when the door hinge creaked open. At the same time, Muta opened his eyes, jumping out of Ryouta’s lap and running off again. Ryouta shook his head, smiling exasperatedly at Muta’s antics, then slowly wheeled himself until he was near enough to be able to lean down and let Baron sniff his hand. Baron sniffed Ryouta’s hand warily, making Ryouta worry that his cat had already forgotten about him, but Baron started rubbing himself on Ryouta’s leg, demanding to be petted. Ryouta cooed, whispering an apology as he shifted his position to get down from the wheelchair to sit down on the floor and reach Baron better.

“You missed me, right? Did you miss me?” Ryouta spoke in a sing–song voice, scratching Baron’s chin who was purring like a motor.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, you know. It won’t happen again. _And_ off he goes,” Ryouta continued, pouting as he watched Baron run off.

Ryouta remained sitting down though, still taking in the sight of his room. It’s been dusted, but as far as he can remember, everything’s in the same place it was when he was last here. Well, _almost_ everything. The _tatami_ mats have been scratched up, he should probably replace them. There’s his old school bag on his chair, still muddy from the ditch. Ryouta wondered why his mother never washed that stain out. She was probably also the one who placed his pencils back in the pen holder. How many times has she gone in here while he was away? Oh, his old _gakuran_ ’s still hanging on the door of his cabinet. It still feels like it’s only been yesterday that he was wearing that for graduation.

 

_“Nya~”_

Ryouta cracked open an eyelid, tentatively, as he tried to figure out which one of his cats was trying to wake him up this time.

It was Goro, and he was currently rubbing his head on his owner’s elbow.

“Morning, Goro,” Ryouta said with a yawn, reaching out to pet his cat with the arm not being used as a scratching post. “Why are you in my face this early?”

Goro only purred, pressing his tiny head deeper into Ryouta’s palm.

Ryouta smiled in return.

When Goro began fussing against being petted, Ryouta sat up straighter and stretched his arms. He should probably stop working so late at night so he can stop falling asleep on his desk.

Ryouta then looked down to see Muta sleeping on his lap. _Again._ He sighed. So _that’s_ why he can’t feel his legs.

“Muta,” Ryouta said as he gently combed his hand through the mass of fur on his lap. “You know you’re too heavy to still sleep on my lap.”

Muta swatted Ryouta’s hand away with his front paw then jumped off Ryouta’s lap, staring at him from the floor as if he was judging Ryouta for waking him up.

Ryouta raised an eyebrow in reply before turning his attention to his desktop. For once, he didn’t manage to ruin a sketch by planting his face on it when he fell asleep last night. Some of his pencils weren’t so lucky, though, smudging into the sides of the paper he was using. He’d clean them up later.

Now, he should probably hurry up and get dressed before he ends up being late for graduation.

 

When Ryouta went down to the kitchen, Muta carried in his arms, his mother was already there before him, humming a tune as she made breakfast.

“Morning, Ryouta. Put Muta down, you’ll get fur all over you,” she said without even looking away from the stove.

“Morning, _Kaa–san_ ,” Ryouta greeted back as he gently placed Muta down on the floor and watched the cat take off again. “How did you know I was holding him?”

“Because you do it every single day even though you’re not supposed to?” she said, turning off the stove.

Ryouta smiled sheepishly as he sat down on the dining table. “Where’s _Tou–san_?”

Suddenly the plate his mother was setting on the table slipped from her hands, crashing to the ground and breaking into pieces.

Ryouta was about to stand up to help clean up the shards when his mother waved a hand to stop him.

“No, I’ll get it,” she said as she crouched down to pick up the larger pieces of the broken plate. “Your dad left for work earlier, but he did say he’ll catch up to the ceremony later. He left a gift for you in the living room. You should get it now, I’ll be done here by the time you get back.”

Ryouta nodded slowly, hesitating for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

 

There really was a gift waiting for Ryouta on the living room sofa, and for a moment Ryouta forgot to breathe, simply staring at the gift. He doesn’t really know why he doubted that it was real. Maybe it’s because his father never seemed to pay any attention to him.

The gift was wrapped in a simple wrapping paper, all tied up with a black ribbon that contrasted well with the white wrapper. Ryouta figured his father must have had it wrapped at the store.

Ryouta carefully unwrapped the gift, afraid that his shaking hands might rip up the paper. As soon as Ryouta saw what was inside, he began grinning despite himself. It was a box of the oil pastels he’d been saving up all last year. How did _Tou–san_ know? Maybe his father does care about him after all, Ryouta hoped as he held the gift to his chest and tried not to cry. _Tried_ being the keyword.

 

When Ryouta finally returned to the kitchen, dry–eyed but still sniffling, the table was already set.

Today’s breakfast was not the usual toast, surprisingly. Instead, everything on the table looked like his mother prepared everything especially for this day. There was a big bowl of rice at the center, still steaming. There was _natto_ , too, sticky and stringy in its own little bowl right next to the rice. On a plate that looked like the one that broke a few minutes ago were a few pieces of _shishamo_ , neatly laid out in a row. Last but not the least was the bowl of _miso_ soup, swirling steam rising from it.

“Well?” his mother asked, raising an eyebrow with the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you going to sit down and eat or are you just going to stare at the food? We’ll be late if you don’t hurry.”

Ryouta’s face reddened as he smiled and nodded, taking the seat right next to his mother.

 

“Ryou–chan?” Ryouta’s mother called from within the master bedroom. “Can you come in here for a second?”

Ryouta, who was currently fidgeting in the living room, grudgingly obeyed, wondering what was up.

“What is it, _Kaa–san_?” Ryouta asked as he opened the door.

His mother turned to face him, beaming. It was the most beautiful Ryouta’s ever seen her look. In her hands was a package, wrapped in a paper similar to the one his father’s gift was in.

His mother tilted her head as she looked at him, sighing. “How did you grow up so fast, Ryou–chan?” she said when she got closer to him, tucking away a stray strand of hair behind Ryouta’s ear as she did.

“Here,” she said, clearing her throat, and handed Ryouta the package she had. “I was supposed to give this to you at the same time as your dad’s gift but he left early so…”

Ryouta shook his head, not wanting his mother to keep on making excuses for his father. He can’t stop his hands from shaking as he takes the gift and opens it, the gift almost slipping away from his grasp more than once. He can’t stop gasping, either. It felt like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

When Ryouta finally managed to unwrap it, he stopped. Looked back and forth between the gift and his mother. Stared at the gift again. It was a sketchpad, _the_ sketchpad he’d always wanted to buy but never having enough time or money to do so.

There’s a lump in his throat as he threw himself into his mother’s arms and hugged her. Vaguely, he could hear her gasp before she returned the hug, as if he knocked the wind out of her.

“Thank you, _Kaa–san_ ,” Ryouta whispered, burying his face in his mother’s dress and taking in the sweet scent of his mother’s wisteria perfume, his heart pounding too fast in his chest that it made him out of breath. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, dumpling,” his mother breathed out, combing her hand through Ryouta’s hair.

 

The weather definitely hates him.

Sure, the spring breeze was blowing almost constantly, surrounding everyone with the scent of the _sakura_ blossoms planted around the school, but it was just too humid to be outside.

Ryouta continued to fidget at his place in the line, trying his best not to pull at his _gakuran_ ’s collar again. The _gakuran_ was starched just yesterday, making the dumb collar stiff and itchy and tight. Combined with the hot, humid air and it just made Ryouta miserably out of breath. Or maybe it was just his nerves.

The head teacher gave the signal, and slowly but surely the graduating class of Nozogahara West Middle School marched into the gymnasium, filling up their designated seats at the front rows. Cameras flashed from all directions, their over–eager parents wanting to capture every little detail of the day.

Ryouta craned his neck, even though he wasn’t supposed to, towards the direction of where his parents were supposed to sit. His mother, who saw what he was doing, smiled and waved at him. The chair beside her was still empty.

Ryouta tried to muster up a smile for her, but found that he couldn’t.

Ryouta kept glancing back at the gymnasium doors, unable to pay any attention to the ceremony, still hoping that his father would show up no matter how late. He was barely able to catch his own name being called by the headmaster onstage as a result. Ryouta stood, almost toppling down his chair in hurrying, his face quickly turning a deep crimson as he felt everyone’s eyes on him. At least he managed to make in on the stage and get his diploma in one piece, although he did nearly trip on the stairs in the process.

And that was that. He was finally finished with middle school.

His father never did show up.

 

“He didn’t come,” Ryouta said sullenly to his mother, who was waiting for him outside the gymnasium underneath a _sakura_ tree.

“Oh, baby,” his mother breathed out, reaching out for him. “I’m sure he’ll make up for it during dinner.”

Ryouta allowed his mother to pull him close. “Why didn’t he come?” he whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“He doesn’t care,” Ryouta said, choking back a sob.

“Shh, don’t cry,” his mother said, squeezing his shoulders. “Of course he does.”

“Then where is he?”

She doesn’t answer him.

“You should go home, _Kaa–san_ ,” Ryouta said abruptly, freeing himself from his mother’s grasp. “We still have to clean up.”

“But —”

Ryouta was already running towards the school building, refusing to look back as he waves a goodbye to her. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

 

Cleaning up their classroom for the last time was exhausting, and firmly cemented in the fact that yes, they were graduates now. Ryouta left the room while everyone else was still saying their goodbyes to each other. It’s not as if he has anyone to say goodbye to. And besides, it’s almost sunset and there’s already a light drizzle starting outside. He really doesn’t want to wait until it turns into a full–fledged thunderstorm.

There’s a large carton box in his arms, overflowing with everything he’s accumulated under his desk for the past three years. His entire middle school career summed up in a single box. His arms were aching under the weight of it. It almost made him regret hoarding this much stuff. Almost. The six flights of stairs and the however many meters that lay between their third floor classroom and the school gates didn’t help. Walking that much made him feel positively sick.

He got to the front of the school gates before he remembered he made his mother go home before him. Ryouta sighed, leaning on the stone marker bearing the school name as he adjusted the weight in his arms.  He felt tired for some reason.

He’ll just have to walk the few blocks back to the house, then. Easier said than done. The drizzle was getting stronger.

 

He managed to walk two blocks before he saw _them_.

Walk faster. Don’t catch their eyes. Pretend they’re not even there. Hope they don’t notice his presence.

In the end, it’s a sudden coughing fit that undid him.

In a second, their heads snapped up to look at him, eyes glinting, lips turned up into identical devilish smirks.

Ryouta gulped, even as his throat felt dry. He can’t stop his hands from shaking, subconsciously gripping the box tighter to his chest.

He tried to walk away slowly, but one of them was already blocking his way. The biggest one. He made Ryouta feel like an ant about to be crushed by a giant.

Why can’t they just leave him alone?

“Look, it’s the school toilet,” the one in front of him said in that rumbling voice of his, yanking the box away from Ryouta’s arms.

Trying to pull it back only earned him a shove that sent him landing with his butt on the ground and knocked the air out of him.

 Thunder rolled overhead.

“What’s this, nerd?” he mocked again. The others started circling Ryouta. “One of your trash anime again?”

Ryouta was frozen in place, breath coming out in short gasps. There’s a pressure on his chest that won’t go away.

“What, no tongue, toilet?” he sneered, as he rifled haphazardly through the contents of Ryouta’s box, some of them already fallen to the muddy concrete. The others were laughing like hyenas.

Ryouta shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable beating.

The sound of crumpling and shuffling of papers came instead, and Ryouta forced himself to open his eyes again.

They’re throwing everything in the box down the roadside ditch.

“Trash belongs in the trash.”

A moment later and he’s kicked, once, twice, thrice, he doesn’t want to count anymore, towards the ditch himself. He doesn’t bother turning around to see who’s kicking him. He’d probably be kicked in the face if he did, anyway.

He landed face–first in the cold, sticky mud, and slipped back down again the first time he tried turning on his back. They’re howling at him. The mud in his ears mercifully muffled out some of the names they’re calling him.

They leave, eventually, when the rain started pouring heavily. Their laughter still rang aloud in Ryouta’s ears, however.

He doesn’t want to get up. Trash belonged in the trash.

Maybe he should just pass out here and let someone else find him.

 _But_ Kaa–san _’s waiting at home._

He doesn’t want to break her heart either.

Somehow, he managed to get on his knees, breathing hard. The pressure in his chest felt a lot tighter. His _gakuran_ ’s ruined. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to wear it ever again. Slowly he picked up his things that aren’t already ruined beyond repair. He can still dry them off later. The box was still whole, though Ryouta wasn’t sure how much longer it can hold his things after being soaked.

By the time he gathered everything that was salvageable, the rain was strong enough to blur out the road.

Left. Right. One foot after the other. He had to get home. _Kaa–san_ must be worried. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

 

It took Ryouta almost an hour to walk the rest of the way, having to pause longer and longer for breaths he can’t seem to catch, soaked to the bone in the rain. He should’ve brought an umbrella.

Baron was waiting for him when he opened the door, the cat nuzzling his muddied pant leg. He smiles weakly, reaching out to pet the cat with a shaking hand.

“I’m fine, Baron,” Ryouta said, his voice sounding hoarse even to himself.

He was so sleepy. Maybe he should nap a bit first. And _Kaa–san_ shouldn’t see him like this.

The next thing Ryouta knew, Baron was meowing frantically at his face, kneading at his chest. There’s a dull ache in his head. When did he get on the floor?

“—ta, is that you? Why are you home this late?” he could hear his mother ask, probably from the kitchen. Ryouta wanted to answer, but nothing was coming out from his mouth.

And then she’s screaming.

Baron’s meowing must have tipped his mother off. He rarely meowed.

She was next to him now, panicking, shouting at his father to call an ambulance. Or he thought she was. Ryouta’s eyes were refusing to open.

Tou–san _was home?_

Ryouta coughed again.

“Ryou?” his mother called out, squeezing his hand. “Stay with me, dumpling. You’ll be fine. What happened?”

Ryouta could only squeeze her hand back.

He felt his mother smooth out his hair. “You’ll be fine, the ambulance will be here soon. Just please stay awake, okay?”

There were sirens in the distance that kept on getting louder, until they stopped, and unfamiliar pairs of hands started prodding him, carrying him, strapping something to his face. He can’t hear what they were saying, just that he could still feel his mother holding his hand. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying there. The sirens started again.

Eventually, he exhaled, a long, sighing one, feeling strangely calm and sorry for falling asleep when his mother told him not to.

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a tumblr right [here](http://ranichi17.tumblr.com/).


End file.
